


Trust A Few

by violetclarity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Erasure, Bisexual Hermione Granger, Bisexuality, Christmas, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Drama, HP Femslash MiniFest, Hermione has a Sister, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Sharing a Bed, background Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley - Freeform, discussion and impact of Hermione and Ron's break-up, discussion and impact of Hermione modifying her parents' memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 11:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17243501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetclarity/pseuds/violetclarity
Summary: Hermione has a pregnant adopted sister, parents who don’t believe she’s bisexual, and a crush the size of the Great Lake on Pansy Parkinson. Taking Pansy up on her offer to be Hermione’s fake date to her parents’ Christmas dinner could solve at least one of those problems...but it could also make everything worse.





	Trust A Few

**Author's Note:**

> This is my (very last minute!) submission for the HP Femslash Minifest prompt of _fake dating._ I really thought this would be shorter than my entry for last month, since I worked on that one for weeks ahead of time and started this one halfway through December...I was wrong.
> 
> My eternal gratitude, as always, to **frnklymrshnkly** for being my wlw fic partner in crime, supporting all of my wild ideas, and beta-reading this with two days notice in the middle of the holidays. You're the best.
> 
> I cribbed the title from Shakespeare.

The cashier smiled pityingly at Hermione when she handed over her shopping basket – assorted crackers, a bottle of wine, and two blocks of cheese. She knew the message her purchases sent. It could have been the makings of a romantic date night, but both Hermione and the flannel-clad bloke behind the register knew the truth: she was about to go home and eat all of this cheese alone in front of the telly, horribly single, wretched workaholic that she was.

“That’ll be seventeen twenty-two,” the cashier said, and Hermione handed over a twenty-pound note. Her mother had been telling her for years to get a credit card – “People don’t trust you if you always use cash,” she warned – but Hermione knew that if she had a bank card it would be fried in under a week with the amount of magic it would be exposed to. She lived in a magical building and worked at the Ministry; although she’d managed to create a shield of sorts in order to plug in a television (which only played DVDs; she couldn’t even fathom trying to connect it to Freeview), even that was sometimes disrupted by a particularly forceful _Silencio_ or _Scourgify_ cast by her upstairs neighbors. She usually kept her mobile, which she only used to contact her parents, switched off while she was at home, much to her mother’s chagrin. If she wanted to use it, Hermione had to stand on her balcony, leaning over the railing and hoping she wouldn’t fall as she tried to get away from the ambient magic her flat radiated.

“Two seventy-eight is your change,” the cashier said, dumping a pile of coins into Hermione’s hands.

“Thank you,” she told him. She piled her food into her handbag, hoping no one noticed that it didn’t look any fuller – she was a big believer in Undetectable Extension Charms these days – and hurried out of the shop. It was a mild day for December, the light almost gone, but at least it wasn’t raining, so Hermione decided to walk the extra few blocks from the Waitrose to her flat rather than Apparating.

Even though she _could_ do everything with magic, she preferred not to; she felt there was value in doing things in what Ron would call ‘the Muggle way’ some of the time. It grounded you – the walk to her flat included crossing a small park, and the fresh air cleared her mind in the way a quick Apparation wouldn’t. And it kept you humble: taking the time to travel as Muggles did always reminded Hermione how thankful and lucky she was to have magic. She supposed that wasn’t the kind of thing you needed to be reminded of when you’d grown up with magic all around you – one of many reasons that she and Ron hadn’t worked out.

The light at the crosswalk had just turned green when her mobile began to ring.

The sound was shockingly loud; she had the volume turned all the way up because the device often fell to the bottom of her bag, but on the crowded street corner it blared. Several people turned to glare at her as she began to paw around in her bag. This was a time when the Undetectable Extension Charm was a horrible idea, because there was far more space than there should have been for the phone to get lost in. She had to step to the side and lean against a building, hoping no one noticed that she was elbow-deep in her handbag. By the time she found her mobile and answered it, the light had gone red again.

Hermione sighed in resignation and made her way to the edge of the footpath, bringing the mobile to her ear. Only three people ever called her, and Harry was on a mission for the Auror’s right now, which meant–

“Hello?”

“Hermione, darling! Is that you?”

She stifled a groan. “Yes, mum. Who else would be answering my mobile?”

Her mother made a tsk-ing noise that Hermione knew from experience would be paired with a hand-wave if she were there to see it in person. “I don’t know, dear. You always seem to have new assistants.”

Hermione rolled her eyes as she crossed the street and turned to make her way across the park. She’d tried to explain it before, and knew her mother simply didn’t understand how the Ministry worked, or that the various Undersecretaries Hermione worked with were not her assistants.

“No, it’s me,” she said instead, sidestepping a questionable puddle and whispering a Warming Charm under her breath. She hadn’t put on her gloves and her fingers were cold around the metal of her mobile. “Did you need something?”

“Oh, yes!” her mum tittered. “Has Diana told you the news?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, grateful that her mother couldn’t see her. Although her mother persisted in pretending that they were one big, happy family, Hermione and her adopted sister never spoke outside of their parents’ home. Hermione supposed it made sense: finding out your new adoptive parents had different identities and another daughter – a daughter who was a witch and had magically altered their memories – wasn’t a situation that lent itself to being best friends. While her parents had been understanding of the situation and had been happy to return to being Helen and Bert Granger instead of Monica and Wendell Wilkins, Diana hadn’t wanted to move from Australia to England, even though they all agreed it was for the best if she stayed with Helen and Bert instead of going back into the foster care system. Hermione had gladly bore the brunt of Diana’s fourteen-year-old frustration, not wanting to hurt her parents any further. But seven years later, Diana’s grudge lived on.

It might have bothered Hermione less if she didn’t suspect that her parents were secretly happy to have a non-magical daughter – someone normal, with a life they could understand and brag about to their friends; not like Hermione, with her checkered past, odd celebrity status, and incomprehensible work. But she supposed she’d made her bed and now had to lie in it. And at least her plan had worked – her parents had survived the War – even if she had gotten a sister in the process.

“You know Diana and I don’t talk much,” Hermione reminded her mother. “What news are you talking about?”

“She’s pregnant!” Helen crowed. Hermione stopped walking, not caring about the the other commuters who parted around her on the pavement, grumbling their annoyance.

“What?”

“Diana is pregnant!” her mum repeated. “She told your father and I last night. Just think; this time next year they’ll be a little one crawling around under the tree!”

Hermione swallowed. The image that conjured was visceral. It reminded her of her last Christmas at the Burrow, baby Victorie batting at low-hanging baubles while Fleur looked on with a smile. When they’d gotten home, Ron had tucked Hermione under his arm and said something about their future children and that was when she’d known, deep in her gut, that she had to end things, even if it had taken her another several months to follow through with it.

“That’s wonderful,” she said, even though her throat felt like paper. “Tell her congratulations from me.”

“You should call her and tell her yourself,” Helen scolded. “Or tell her at Christmas! That’s also why I called; you haven’t told us if you’ll be bringing anyone for dinner.”

The cold was biting through Hermione’s tights, slush beginning to soak her toes, so she forced herself to start moving again, the thought of her warm apartment and an assortment of cheeses her motivation.

“Right, Christmas,” she said. She hadn’t _forgotten,_ exactly, that it was coming up – less than a week away, she realized – but it wasn’t at the forefront of her mind. The evergreen garlands and wreaths had gone up so long ago at the office that now they were part of the background, and she’d done all of her holiday shopping by owl order weeks ago. She had plans to see Harry, Ginny, and their kids a few days after Christmas, and was looking forward to Harry’s reaction to the signed Puddlemere poster she’d gotten him… Maybe she had been putting the knowledge about her parents’ Christmas supper out of her mind.

“You will be coming, won’t you?”

Hermione swallowed. “Of course!” she said, because she had no good reason not to – no partner’s family to visit, no work obligations on a national holiday.

“Wonderful!” Her mother’s voice was bright. Hermione’s apartment building was in sight now, and she stopped on the corner, bouncing on her toes a little to keep the blood moving.

“I’m almost home, Mum. I’ll have to get off the phone soon… Is there anything else?”

“Make sure you call Diana to congratulate her, Hermione. And are you bringing anyone home for Christmas this year?”

Hermione bit her lip. Ever since her break-up with Ron, she’d gone to her parent’s house for the holidays alone. Every year, her mother bemoaned her single status, and her father asked if she worked with any nice men – never mind that she’d come out to them as bisexual even before breaking up with Ron. The last two years, when Diana had attended with her boyfriend-now-fiancé, had been even worse. Hermione could feel the comparison every moment. On the one hand, perhaps Diana’s pregnancy would distract her parents from Hermione’s personal life, so lackluster by comparison...or would it make the inquisitions worse?

Hermione hadn’t consciously made the decision before the words were coming out of her mouth. “I will be, actually.”

The shock in her mother’s voice was obvious. “Really?” she asked, incredulous, but managed to recover. “That’s wonderful! We’ll look forward to meeting him.”

“Her, actually,” Hermione corrected, mind still buzzing with frustration about her parents’ inability to understand her sexuality.

“Meet her,” Helen corrected. “Well. We’ll be delighted. We’ll see you at two on Christmas, alright? And call your sister!”

Hermione agreed she would, and her mother hung up. Before she forgot, she opened Diana’s contact and typed out a quick text:

_I heard the news. Congrats! You’re going to be a great mum._

Then she dropped her mobile into her bag and pressed her fist to her forehead.

Why had she done that? Why on _Earth_ had she done that? She’d been putting up with the remarks about her love life for years. Why was this the year she decided she couldn’t take it anymore?

And even worse, what had possessed her to tell her mother she would be bringing home a _woman_? Hermione didn’t have any idea who she might be able to convince to come as her date, now that she’d told her mum she was bringing a girlfriend.

Throwing open the door to her apartment building, Hermione groaned. A pack of assorted crackers, two blocks of cheese, and one bottle of wine was no longer going to be enough to turn her evening around.

~~~

The next morning found Hermione in the Ministry canteen, picking at her porridge. She’d already eaten all of the parts that had cinnamon sugar on them, and the rest was bland and tasteless. The coffee, too, left something to be desired, and did nothing to appease Hermione’s headache, a reminder that she’d drunk too much wine the night before. She should have stopped at a coffee shop for a proper breakfast when she’d woken up and realized she had nothing in her kitchen, but at 7:15 the lines were long, and besides, she had a lot to review in preparation for meetings today – review she’d been planning to do last night, before the phone call with her mother, the revelation of Diana’s pregnancy, and the invention of a fake girlfriend Hermione had claimed would be joining them for Christmas.

Rubbing the heels of her palms against her eyes, she groaned. Whom did she know that would pretend to be her girlfriend – on Christmas, no less?

“Someone’s looking chipper this morning.”

Hermione looked up. Pansy Parkinson leant against the chair opposite her, perky and too perfect for the hour of the morning. She was wearing a scarf with a subtle silver shimmer and cherry red lipstick, and Hermione’s stomach did a little flip.

Hermione’s track record with love may have been abysmal, and she might never have time for dates because she worked so much, but that didn’t mean she didn’t notice when people were attractive and fancy them – and most recently, she’d been harboring feelings for Pansy.

It wasn’t because Pansy had the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen and legs that drove Hermione to distraction – well, it wasn’t _only_ that. Pansy worked in the Ministry’s legal office, and over the years Hermione’s admiration of her quick wit and sharp tongue had grown as she’d noticed that, outside of the courtroom, Pansy was purposefully, painstakingly kind. She thought about her actions, and demonstrated a level of perceptiveness that Hermione hadn’t known she possessed. It stood in sharp contrast to the petty meanness Pansy’d practiced in school, although she still stood her ground and didn’t let anyone underestimate her.

It didn’t help that, despite them working in different departments of the Ministry, their outside-of-work schedules were weirdly in sync. Hermione was always running into Pansy in the canteen at lunch, or when she stayed late and needed a snack after everyone else had left… and now, apparently, in the morning as well.

“Hi, Pansy,” she sighed.

Pansy frowned. “Seriously, you look stressed. What’s going on?”

Hermione shrugged, deciding to be honest. “My younger sister is pregnant, and I told my mom that I’m bringing my nonexistent girlfriend home for Christmas.”

Pansy’s eyebrows rose. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Hermione shook her head. “I don’t know. I guess I snapped, or something. Every year it’s the same comments about how I’m still single, and the thought of that as well as all the cooing over Diana and Toby… I didn’t even know what I was saying. And then my mom assumed it would be a man, and just to be contrary I corrected her, even though I’m not dating anyone!” She sighed again. “I’m fucked. I’d hire a Muggle actor or something but I don’t want to violate the Statute over something as silly as this.” She frowned. “Well, I shouldn’t.”

Pansy sank into the chair across from Hermione, her expression sympathetic. “I’m sorry, that’s terrible,” she said. “I used to have similar experiences with my parents. Every holiday, the Spanish Inquisition about why I hadn’t found a nice boy and settled down yet.”

Hermione perked up. “Used to? How did you get your parents to stop?”

“I stopped going.”

“Oh.”

“At first, I got really drunk and tried to embarrass them as much as possible, but that made the lectures worse and didn’t make me feel any better. Draco pointed out that it was probably better for my liver and my state of mind if I didn’t let them get to me anymore.” Pansy shrugged. “It’s more relaxing to spend Christmas alone, anyway. Taking advantage of the time off work instead of having to see my horrible relatives, all that.”

Hermione sighed. “I’d feel too guilty if I stopped going altogether. My parents aren’t _that_ bad.”

Pansy propped her chin on her hand, watching Hermione with wide eyes. They were dark and warm, and made Hermione feel like she was being seen – herself, Hermione, not Harry Potter’s best friend or the youngest Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in history. She couldn’t begin to count the number of times she’d daydreamed about Pansy looking at her like that across a candlelight table in a fancy restaurant, or from the other side of Hermione’s bed. Not in the Ministry canteen at not-even-eight in the morning, while Hermione revealed how much of a mess she’d made of her personal life.

“Still,” Pansy said, “it’s not unreasonable to want them to stop bothering you about your love life. Especially if your sister’s having a baby. Can’t they focus on her?”

Hermione snorted. “Right. You’d think.”

Pansy tilted her head, her hair falling back to reveal the pale skin of her neck as she did so. “So what will make it better?”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “What do you mean?”

“Christmas with your family. What will make it better?” Pansy smirked. “Finding someone to be your fake girlfriend for the day?”

Hermione groaned, covering her face with her hands. Curse her inability to keep her mouth shut about her problems, and curse the fact that the first person she’s spoken to this morning was also the person she fancied. “I know you think this is funny, but I’d really rather not keep thinking about it.”

A gentle hand touched her wrist, and Hermione peeked between her fingers to see Pansy drawing her hand away, concern evident in her eyes. “Sorry,” Pansy said, pushing her hair back and drumming her fingers on the table. “What if I did it?”

Hermione lowered her hands. “Did what?”

“Pretended to be your girlfriend for Christmas.”

Hermione swallowed. Her heart raced and she prayed her blush wasn’t obvious. The problem with Hermione’s inconvenient feelings for Pansy was that she had no idea how Pansy felt about her, or if she was even interested in women, and their professional relationship was too successful for Hermione to risk jeopardizing it.

“Why would you want to do that?”

Pansy shrugged. “Like I said, I have nothing else to do on Christmas. It sounds like you’ve got yourself into a bind, and I’m sure I owe you about a dozen favors by this point.” Her shoulders tightened. “Unless you’ve got someone else you wanted to ask… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed–”

“No,” Hermione interrupted. “You’re right, I am stuck. I– Probably all of my friends have actual Christmas plans.” She winced. “Shit, I didn’t mean that the way it came out–”

Pansy waved her off. “It’s alright,” she said. “I’m aware that my plans are pitiful.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant–”

“Hermione,” Pansy said sharply. “I’m not offended, I promise. I’m offering to help you as a friend… do you want me to?”

_As a friend._ Hermione’s feelings for Pansy were not even remotely in the realm of friendship anymore, but she _was_ desperate, and if Pansy was offering, it had to mean that she wasn’t uncomfortable around Hermione, right? Hermione’d kept her feelings under wraps for this long; she could handle acting normal for one dinner.

Well, not normal. Fake-couple-y. She could handle acting like a normal fake couple for one dinner.

She really didn’t want to face her parent’s excitement about Diana’s baby alone.

“That would be great,” she said, letting out the breath she’d been holding. “Really great. As long as you don’t mind.”

Pansy grinned. “Not at all! Like I said, I owe you.” She glanced at her watch and stood. “Bugger, I was supposed to be back upstairs ten minutes ago. But owl me the details, yeah?”

“Of course,” Hermione said, wrapping her hands around her now-cold coffee as Pansy pushed in her chair and smoothed her skirt. “Thank you again!”

Pansy nodded and smiled once more before she turned and made for the canteen doors. Her skirt did very nice things to her arse, Hermione noted, and then chastised herself for looking.

~~~

“I did something stupid,” Hermione announced, throwing her coat over the back of her chair and dropping her purse onto the table.

Harry slid her drink across the table to her – cider, she didn’t care if it was December and not the season anymore – and cast a _Muffliato_ around them as she sat down.

“Not a sentence you often open with,” he said, raising his eyebrows and taking a sip of his lager. “What stupid thing did you do?”

Hermione dragged her glass towards her, watching the condensation streak across the table. She leaned in to take a sip, lowering the liquid level in the glass, and patted her fingertips across her napkin. “Diana is pregnant,” she said. “Did you order any chips?”

“Diana is pregnant?” Harry repeated. “When? How?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “My mum called me last night and told me.” Diana still hadn’t replied to Hermione’s congratulations text either, not that she’d been expecting a response. “As for how, I assume her _fiancé_ has something to do with it.”

Harry glared. “That’s a shocker, but how is this related to you doing something stupid?”

“Chips?”

“They’re on the way. Why won’t you answer the damn question?”

“I need the chips, Harry.”

“What did you do?”

Hermione exhaled. “Pansy Parkinson offered to be my fake date to my parents’ house for Christmas and I said yes.”

Harry frowned. “Wait, wait. Rewind.”

“Diana is pregnant,” Hermione repeated. “My mum called to tell me last night, and to make sure I was coming for Christmas. Which of course turned into her asking if I was bringing anyone, and I had this nightmare vision of my parents grilling me about my love life while gagging with happiness about their new grandbaby, and I snapped and told her I would be bringing someone with me, actually.”

Harry was still frowning. “But Parkinson?”

“Well, then Mum asked who he was and I was so mad about how my parents never believe that I’m bisexual that I said ‘no, _she,_ actually,’ and then we hung up and I’d backed myself into a corner of having told my mother that I was bringing a woman home for Christmas.”

“Alright,” Harry said. “But _Parkinson_?”

Hermione took a sip of her drink. “Ran into her this morning before work,” she said. “And I ended up telling her everything, and she said that she didn’t go home for Christmas anymore, and then she offered to come with me because she could tell I was stressed and I didn’t say no.”

“You said yes,” Harry corrected. Hermione nodded. He let out a long exhale, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms across his chest. “You told her _everything_?”

“Not everything,” Hermione amended. “I told her my sister was pregnant and my parents don’t believe that I’m bi. I didn’t tell her that my relationship with said sister is extremely strained because neither she nor my parents were aware of my existence when she was adopted.”

The fact that Hermione had altered her parents’ memories and sent them to live in Australia for two years during and after the War was not a fact that was widely known in the wizarding world, by Hermione’s own design. It was a well known fact, of course, that Hermione Granger was a Muggleborn, but no one was interested in Dr. and Dr. Granger. She’d waited over a year after Voldemort’s death to bring them back to England, first because things were too hectic for her to Portkey to another continent, and then out of fear that Voldemort’s lingering supporters might find and hunt them. The location of their house, their names, and their occupations were all closely guarded secrets… as was the fact that, during the two years they lived as Monica and Wendell Wilkins, they’d adopted a thirteen year old girl.

It made sense, Ron had assured Hermione at the time, that she hadn’t been able to erase her presence from her parents’ lives completely; it should have comforted her, even, that they loved her so much they sought to replace her. Hermione, having to deal with revealing the truth of the wizarding world to a moody teenager who _wasn’t_ being told she had superpowers, hadn’t been very comforted. Diana would forever see her as the bad guy, and Hermione would always be stuck with a little sister she hadn’t wanted.

Harry had opened his mouth – probably to say something obvious, like how Hermione would need to explain the situation to Pansy before bringing her to the Grangers’ home, or maybe to point out how insane her entire plan was – but at that moment the waiter arrived with a huge plate of chips, and after they’d both ordered their sandwiches, Harry crossed his arms on the table and leaned in.

“So. Your adopted sister is pregnant. You told your mom you have a girlfriend, and Pansy Parkinson is going to pretend to be said girlfriend at your parents’ house on _Christmas._ ”

Hermione swallowed, nodded. The worst part of it was how attracted she was to Pansy Parkinson, and how much that was going to complicate everything, but she hadn’t yet admitted that to Harry and didn’t intend to bring it up now.

“Well, fuck.” Harry laughed. “What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall at that meal… do you think your parents would mind if I tagged along?”

Hermione tossed a chip at his head, and Harry laughed harder. “Shut your mouth,” she said. “As if I could drag you away from the Burrow at Christmas.”

That had been the deal, after all, when she and Ron broke up. Neither of them could “win” Harry – their friendships ran too deep for that; Harry would never have picked sides – but Ron got his family, of course, and Harry was part of that. Hermione would never deprive him of the adoptive family he’d found with the Weasleys – couldn’t have anyway, now that Harry and Ginny were married. Harry went to the Burrow for holidays and birthdays, and Hermione got to see him one-on-one, in Muggle pubs or at her flat on the weekends, the occasional party when a large enough group of friends was invited. Those occasions were always a double-edged sword; Hermione liked to be in a crowd, to see the people she didn’t see as often, such as Neville and Luna, but there always came a moment when her eyes caught Ron’s from across the room, and she started towards him, but he turned away. Still not ready. Over four years since they’d broken up and he still wouldn’t speak to her. She wondered if he would ever be ready, or if it was time for her to finally let go.

Harry wore a soft, hurt expression. “You know I’d be there for you if you needed me, Hermione.” He said it like a statement, but she could sense the question behind it.

“I know,” she reassured him. “You’ll have more fun at the Burrow anyway. I can already tell you what it’s going to be: lots of my dad referring to Pansy as my _friend_ while Diana glares at me from across the table.” She sighed. “Maybe I would have been better off skipping it altogether.”

~~~

Things went smoothly over the next few days, helped by the fact that Hermione hadn’t run into Pansy in any of the usual places. To be precise, they went smoothly until two days before Christmas, when Pansy dropped into Hermione’s office at half past four to “talk logistics” and then, on her way out the door, commented, “I didn’t even know you had a sister.”

Hermione coughed, uncomfortable. “Well. I didn’t always.”

Pansy half-smiled. “That’s usually how it works with younger siblings, yes.”

Hermione shook her head. “No. I mean, she’s adopted. My parents adopted her when she was thirteen. About nine years ago, now.”

Pansy frowned, doing the mental calculations. “Your parents adopted a teenager in the middle of the War?”

“Well.” Hermione squirmed in her seat. “They weren’t in England at the time?”

Pansy started to say something, stopped, and put her hands on her hips. “Hermione, I don’t want to pry. But I don’t want it to be obvious in front of your parents that I don’t know something I ought to.”

Hermione pushed her hair off of her face, gesturing for Pansy to come sit across from her before she spelled the door shut, locking it and muffling the noise as well.

Pansy looked at the closed and warded door in shock, then turned to face her. “Hermione?”

“It’s not something that’s known,” Hermione said. “I mean, it’s a secret, but anyone I was dating would know. I trust you,” she said, when it looked like Pansy meant to argue, “but you can’t tell anyone.”

It was true, she realized, as Pansy nodded, saying “Of course I won’t tell.” Hermione _did_ trust Pansy, and not just because of her inconvenient feelings for the other woman, but because in all their years of adjacent work at the Ministry, Pansy had given her no reason not to. She stuck to her convictions, a decidedly Slytherin characteristic, and now that she’d grown up and realized the error of her previous beliefs, her convictions were a solid moral compass.

“I Obliviated my parents during the War,” Hermione said. “The summer after sixth year. I erased all their memories of me, gave them new identities, and sent them to Australia.” Pansy’s silence made her skin crawl, but Hermione continued. If Pansy was going to be horrified, better to find out now instead of later. “I knew things were going to get a lot worse with Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and I was worried that once they realized I was working with Harry, they’d go after my parents, and I’d have no way to protect them. It was a precautionary measure. I didn’t end up going to get them until after the dust had settled, over a year after the last battle, and when I did, they’d adopted Diana. That’s what I mean by I didn’t always have a sister.”

Pansy nodded, slowly. “Wow.”

“I restored their memories of who they used to be, but I couldn’t erase two years of their lives, and I couldn’t tell them to abandon their daughter because they remembered they already had me.” Hermione shrugged. “So I fudged some papers from the Australian government so their real identities had adopted Diana, and they all moved to England. Diana’s hated me ever since, of course, but I think it makes my parents happy to have a normal daughter– a Muggle daughter, that is, even though they never said anything about my magic.”

Pansy gave a shaky laugh. “Alright. Anything else I need to know as your pretend girlfriend?”

Hermione shrugged. “Diana’s fiancé is an absolute tosser,” she said, “but neither of my parents will admit it. I’d be surprised if he sticks around more than a year after their kid is born.”

Pansy nodded. “Noted.”

“Nothing else that I can think of.” Hermione ran her fingers along the edge of her desk. “Sorry. I know that’s probably… more than you were bargaining for.” She bit her lip. “I understand if you don’t want to do this anymore.”

Pansy’s smile was kind and firm. “Only if you don’t want me to,” she said. “Otherwise, I’m definitely still in.”

“Thank you.” Hermione took a deep breath. “I really do appreciate this, you know. I’m going to owe you a big favor.”

Pansy waved her off. “Please don’t worry about it. We’re still nowhere close to even.” She grinned. “Now, if all of the Granger family dirty laundry has been aired…” Pansy crossed her legs, propping her elbow on her knee and her chin on her fist, a silly, dramatic pose. “What do you want me to wear to scandalize and/or impress Dr. and Dr. Granger, Diana, and the tosser fiancé?”

The thought of Pansy asking Hermione what she should wear – especially when she was sitting on the other side of Hermione’s desk like _that,_ with such a mischievous expression on her face – made Hermione’s face burn. She covered it with a laugh.

“Um, I don’t know? Something festive?”

~~~

Pansy’s interpretation of _something festive_ was a bright red, curve-hugging sheath dress and black heels.

When Pansy opened the door to her flat wearing it, Hermione was speechless for so long that Pansy had begun to look nervous.

“Hermione? Is something wrong with my dress?” she asked, fidgeting.

“No– nothing! Nothing’s wrong. You look wonderful,” Hermione said, then worried that was too enthusiastic. “Wonderfully appropriate, I mean. Definitely festive.”

Pansy stepped aside. “I’m almost ready, just need to grab my coat, and we can Apparate from in here if you want?”

“That’s fine with me – it’s starting to snow outside.” Hermione came in and Pansy closed the door behind her. She gestured for Hermione to sit on the sofa – Hermione felt awkward and remained standing instead – before disappearing further into the flat, presumably into her bedroom. Hermione was examining the pictures on the mantle, specifically one of a smiling Pansy sandwiched between Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini, when Pansy reappeared wearing a fur-collared black coat and carrying a bottle of wine and two small gift bags.

“You’re bringing presents?” Hermione asked. She hadn’t asked Pansy to, or arranged any gifts on behalf of her supposed girlfriend, although her own bag held presents for her parents, Diana, and Toby. Hermione felt off-kilter with the knowledge that she had forgotten something so crucial… and with the knowledge that Pansy had taken it upon herself to remember.

Pansy set the presents on a side table and turned away from Hermione, fussing with her scarf. “It’s nothing big,” she said. “Wine for your parents as a thank-you, and some nice coffee and chocolate for them and your sister.” She turned, her scarf arranged in the sort of artfully chic way Hermione could never pull off, and picked up the gifts. “I figured, if I was really your girlfriend and meeting your parents for the first time, I’d want to impress them.”

“That makes total sense. I should have thought of it myself, but I guess I’ve been… distracted.” Pansy’s smile in response was kind and disarming. Hermione shook herself. “Anyway, you said we could Apparate from in here?”

“Yes, that’ll be fine.” Pansy held out her arm and Hermione took it, trying not to think about the warmth of Pansy’s body or the way they fit into each other with their arms linked, almost like a real couple. “Lead the way, Ms Granger.”

And with a _pop,_ they were gone.

~~~

The first twenty minutes passed in pleasant, if awkward, conversation, with Hermione’s parents peppering Pansy with questions they didn’t understand the answers to while Hermione un-shrunk the gifts she’d brought and arranged them under the tree.

“So you and Hermione went to school together?” Bert asked, eyes flitting back and forth between his daughter and Pansy as though they were a puzzle he was still trying to solve.

“Yes,” Pansy responded. “But we were in different houses. I was in Slytherin,” she explained, and Hermione’s parents nodded, even though she knew they couldn’t have even named the house Hermione herself had been in.

Still, it was going alright, and Pansy hadn’t yet said anything that betrayed how much Muggles mystified her, until Diana and Toby arrived.

Hermione and Pansy were sitting on one of the sofas when Helen got up to let them in, Pansy’s hand resting on Hermione’s knee in a way that affected Hermione far more than it should have, given how casual it was. Pansy was trying to explain her job to Bert (with little success) when Diana stopped dead in the doorway of the living room, her rant about the weather coming to a halt as she narrowed her eyes at Pansy.

“Who’s that?”

Behind her, Toby looked bored, and Helen tittered. “This is Pansy, Hermione’s… companion. I told you your sister was going to be bringing someone home for Christmas this year, Diana, don’t you remember?”

Diana snorted, making for the armchair on the other side of the room. “I thought you were joking.” She sank into the chair, the first movement which betrayed her pregnancy, and jerked her chin towards Pansy. “Is she like Hermione, then?”

Pansy furrowed her brow, confusion obvious. Hermione didn’t know if Diana had meant that to be an insult about her sexuality or her magic, but decided that another discussion of her bisexuality wasn’t what this Christmas Day needed.

“Pansy’s a witch as well,” she said.

Diana hmph-ed.

Toby had finally come into the room, and slouched onto the side of the other sofa closest to Diana. Helen was still hovering in the kitchen doorway.

“It’ll be about another half hour till the roast is done. Does anyone want anything to nibble on in the meantime? Or anything to drink?”

“I’m fine, Doctor Granger, thank you,” Pansy said, and Hermione nodded her agreement. Toby asked for a beer and seemed not to notice when Diana glared at him. Diana told their mother she’d be fine with water, then turned to Pansy and Hermione, an ungracious glint in her eye.

“So, Penny was it?”

“Pansy,” Pansy corrected. Her posture was still relaxed, leaning into Hermione like she was happy to be there, but her voice was steely.

“Pansy, I’m sorry. How ever did you and Hermione meet? I know she’s always so busy with work.”

Pansy wrapped her arm through Hermione’s, smiling at Diana in a way that was sweet but bordered on aggressive. “We actually work together,” she said. “Not in the same departments, but there’s quite a bit of overlap. I mean, we also went to school together, but we didn’t get on… I’m glad we got over that.” She squeezed Hermione’s hand, and Hermione smiled, a little dazed by the warmth in Pansy’s eyes. She hadn’t known Pansy was such a good actor.

“Anyway,” Pansy continued, facing Diana, “I’d been watching her for a while, but I finally got up the nerve to ask her out a few months ago, and here we are!”

Diana looked at Hermione, as though for confirmation, and Hermione realized that her mother was hovering in the doorway again, holding a drink in either hand.

“Yes,” Hermione forced herself to say. “I was really glad that she did. I’d been wanting to, but I wasn’t brave enough.” She looked down at their hands, twined together, resting on Hermione’s own knee. Pansy’s nails were neat and trimmed, varnished with a pale sparkly gold. They couldn’t have been more different from Hermione’s own, blunt and undecorated, but she liked the appearance of their hands next to each other all the same.

What Hermione’d said was true, at least. She’d fancied Pansy for… gods, at least a year, and didn’t _that_ make her the most pathetic person ever. She had never worked up the courage to do something about it. Hermione had no problem living up to her Gryffindor reputation when it came to things like charging into battle, or facing down a Wizengamot that she knew was stacked with old wizards who wouldn’t even listen to what she was proposing, but when it came to her personal life… well. There was a reason none of Hermione’s past relationships had been initiated by her.

Helen came into the room, passing Diana and Toby their drinks. “That’s wonderful, dear. I’m so happy you’re happy,” she said, bustling out just as quickly as she’d come in.

Diana’s smile was tight and forced. “Yes, wonderful,” she echoed. “All we want is for you to be happy, Herm.”

She knew Hermione hated that nickname, and from the way Pansy squeezed her hand, Hermione could tell that Pansy knew too. Normally, that kind of pettiness – with which she had already asked Diana to dispense, many, many times – would sour Hermione’s mood completely, but Pansy’s presence beside her was a comfort, reminding her that this time, she didn’t have to deal with it alone.

Defiant, she grinned. “Thanks, Diana. I really am.”

~~~

Hermione was grateful that over dinner, the topic of conversation switched from herself and Pansy to Diana and Toby and the oh-so-exciting news of Diana’s pregnancy. Helen was beside herself, quizzing Diana on her doctors appointments so far, what prenatal vitamins she was taking, if she’d thought of a nursery decor scheme yet, if they had any name ideas. Occasionally, Bert tried to draw Toby into the conversation with various pointed questions or father-to-father bonding, but Toby responded with grunts or one-syllable words, pushing his roast around on his plate and working his way through a second beer.

Everyone had finished their second helpings when Helen clapped her hands together, happy tears brimming in her eyes as she smiled at Hermione and then at Diana. “I’m grateful to have you both here with us this Christmas,” she said. “To have all of our family together like this. And–” she reached out a hand to Bert, who took it “–we’re both so excited about your new growing family! You’ll have to forgive us for being too enthusiastic. We don’t want to overstep. It’s just, we didn’t know if we would ever get to be grandparents…” Bert nodded in agreement, as Helen sighed happily. “It’s a very exciting time for our whole family.”

Diana smiled at her. “I’m glad you’re excited, Mum.”

Helen wiped the tears away from the corners of her eyes. “Seeing you two grow up,” she said. “And seeing the family grow… We’re so excited, especially since Hermione won’t be having children.”

Hermione set her glass down, hard. A bit of water splashed over the rim and onto her hand. “What do you mean, since Hermione won’t be having children?”

Helen blinked at her. “Well, Hermione, dear, I assumed, after you broke up with Ron… You seemed so focused on your career. And you aren’t getting any younger…”

Hermione’s face burned, with anger or embarrassment, she wasn’t sure. Trust her mother to drag all this out in front of Pansy – Pansy, who was not actually Hermione’s girlfriend and therefore had not gotten to hear the saga of the Weasley-Granger Break-up from Hermione’s point of view, but had probably read about it plenty in the _Prophet’s_ two-week coverage.

“I’m only twenty-seven!” she said. “That’s not too old to have kids!”

She may have spoken a little louder than she ought to have, Hermione realized, when she noticed that everyone was staring at her.

“Of course not, Hermione,” her mum said. “I suppose I assumed you didn’t want children anyway.”

Hermione opened her mouth, then shut it. How to put into words that she wanted children but didn’t know how to raise them in a world she’d joined as an eleven-year-old, that the thought of her own children going through everything she had – the culture shock and desperate attempts to fit in, going through puberty and her first relationship with only other teenagers for guidance – sent shivers down her spine.

Never mind her sad lack of a love life – bringing a _fake girlfriend_ for Christmas was a new low, but it had been true for a long time – and her current lack of romantic interest in men, and, well. It didn’t seem like the question of children would be one she had to think about anytime soon, anyways.

She didn’t know how to put any of these thoughts into words – wasn’t even sure if she wanted to – and was shocked when Pansy, somehow, came to her rescue.

“You may not know this, but life expectancy for witches and wizards – even those who are Muggleborn – is a good thirty to fifty years longer than that of Muggles, er, non-magic people.” Pansy stumbled over her words a bit, but continued. “For witches, fertility lasts longer as well; menopause does not set in until a witch is in her sixties. Hermione still has plenty of time if she wants to have children.” She glanced sideways at Hermione, her cheeks a little pink. “My mother gave birth to me when she was forty-seven.”

Four pairs of wide brown eyes met that revelation. Even Toby had tuned in at some point. Pansy coughed, looking awkward, and Hermione felt a rush of gratitude as well as a desire to protect Pansy from further questions from curious Grangers.

“Yes, exactly.” Hermione smiled at Pansy, then at the others around the table. “I haven’t quite decided about having children, but as Pansy said, there’s no rush for us witches.”

Diana’s expression was sour; she was obviously displeased that the conversation had turned away from her. “Surely you must have an opinion on children, though, Pansy?” Diana asked sweetly. “Aren’t you worried that whatever Hermione decides might not be what you want, and your relationship will be doomed from the start?’’

The smile Pansy gave her in return could have curdled milk. She wrapped an arm around Hermione’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “No,” she said simply. “I’m not worried about that at all.”

~~~

They had a blessed few minutes to themselves while Hermione’s parents tidied the kitchen and Diana and Toby went out to their car to fetch the presents they’d brought.

Pansy placed her own gifts under the tree, then looked down the hall into the kitchen, expression doubtful, before turning to Hermione.

“Should we go help your parents with the cleaning up? It would go a lot quicker with magic.”

Hermione shook her head. “I’ve offered before, and every time they say no. They used to be a lot more comfortable around magic, but ever since they came back from Australia, it makes them kind of… jumpy. They’ve never come out and said it, but I think they’re a lot more comfortable when it’s a ‘seen and not heard’ type of situation.”

Pansy didn’t say anything about the fact that Hermione had traumatized her parents by magically altering their memories, but simply nodded and came to sit next to her.

“All good,” Pansy said. She tucked one foot behind the other, making her knee brush against Hermione’s and the hem of her skirt slide up a few inches. In a quieter voice, she said, “You weren’t kidding about your sister being a pain in the arse.”

Hermione winced. “Unfortunately no.” She exhaled roughly. “I don’t think things will ever get better between us. It’s been, what, almost eight years? And things haven’t improved at all – if anything, they’ve gotten worse. Besides, you see how my mum dotes on her.”

Pansy hummed, nodding.

Hermione swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet Pansy’s eyes. “I really appreciate you doing this,” she said. “I mean, I know we aren’t exactly, you know, _friends,_ and this is such a weird situation – even weirder than I’d anticipated, honestly. Not just you being here, but you’ve done such a great job. I mean, you’re really playing the part.” She thought about earlier that night, when Diana had asked Pansy what about Hermione had caught her eye, obviously hoping to lead her into saying something embarrassing, and Pansy had gone on for several minutes about Hermione’s intelligence and dedication to her work.

Now Pansy shook her head, waving off Hermione’s thanks. “It’s nothing,” she said. “You’ve saved me from spending the day eating take-away in front of the telly. _I_ should be thanking _you._ ”

Pansy’s eyes were warm and dark, and Hermione thought that brown had never had so many layers. She’d seen Pansy’s expression go from sultry to icy in the space of a second, but she’d never seen those eyes look like this – focused and earnest, and meltingly warm. Having them focused on her made Hermione’s knees go weak, even though she was already sitting down.

Hermione wanted to lean forward, throw herself into Pansy’s space, knowing Pansy would catch her if she fell.

She wanted to kiss her.

Pansy smiled, almost a secret thing, pleased in private at something in Hermione’s face. She raised one hand, one lovely, golden-nailed hand, and trailed the tips of her fingers along Hermione’s wrist.

“Hermione–”

Heat rushed to Hermione’s cheeks, and she stood, wrenching herself a few steps away from the sofa, unable to handle what was hidden in Pansy’s eyes. Behind her she heard Pansy, shift, then stand; her voice was concerned when she spoke – “Hermione?” – but whatever she was going to say was cut off by the sound of the front door slamming as Diana and Toby returned.

Diana stopped in the doorway, a shiny gift bag in either hand, her expression flat and bored.

“Oh. You’re still here.”

~~~

Hermione’s parents cooed over Pansy’s gifts while Diana glared.

“How thoughtful, of you! Thank you, Pansy!” Helen said.

Pansy smiled and said something in response that made Helen laugh, but Hermione didn’t hear what it was. Pansy was still curled against her side, hand tucked into her elbow and thighs pressed together, and Hermione was past coherent thoughts that weren’t about the smell of Pansy’s shampoo.

Pansy’s position was casual, comfortable, like she and Hermione cuddled all the time. They would, Hermione supposed, if they were dating. She’d asked Pansy to make her parents believe that they were a couple, and Pansy was certainly doing a good job of that – Hermione couldn’t be fault her if, at the same time, it made Hermione’s chest twist with something like regret.

She’d wanted to prove a point to her parents and her sister, to make them accept her bisexuality and stop worrying about her, but now that she was here, in the midst of her plan _succeeding,_ she was having second thoughts. Why did she need to prove she was happy to her parents, anyway? She may not have been pregnant and engaged like Diana, but that didn’t mean Hermione wasn’t happy – her work was fulfilling, and she had a wide circle of friends; maybe she didn’t see them quite as often as she would have liked, but no-one’s life was perfect, right? Her parents didn’t even understand the wizarding world, so why did Hermione feel she had to prove something to them? Diana was always going to hate Hermione, she’d long since accepted that, so why did she do things like she cared what Diana thought?

The real problem, the true reason that this had been a _mistake_ , a horrible mistake, every part of Hermione screamed, was that she’d played herself: she’d wanted to prove to her parents that there was nothing missing in her life, but all she’d done was show herself that something was. She wanted someone – _Pansy_ – who’d curl into her side and praise how intelligent she was because they _meant_ it, not because they were acting.

And how would this play out down the road, if she did meet someone? Or in six months, when Helen wanted her to bring Pansy over for dinner? Would she ask Pansy to do this again? Would Pansy even be willing? Hermione would have to lie, tell her mum they broke up, and deal with her parents’ pity and Diana’s smugness over that fact.

This whole thing had been a mistake. She ought to come clean to her parents – admit that bringing Pansy had been for show. If nothing else, maybe that would show her parents that they needed to back off and leave her alone about her love life.

Hermione’d well and truly zoned out of the conversation, but Pansy started stroking her hair, and that got her attention. Pansy’s fingers were warm, and when they touched the side of Hermione’s face, her skin felt like it had been zapped with electricity.

“We probably should get going,” Pansy said, and it sounded like she was speaking in response to someone else, but Hermione could not for the life of her have said who that was. “It is pretty late.”

Hermione’s mum flicked back the curtains to peer out the window, frowning. “The weather’s gotten pretty nasty out there,” she said. “Are you sure you girls don’t want to spend the night here like Diana and Toby? I can make the bed in the spare room for you, it won’t take long.”

Hermione was opening her mouth to remind her mother that they were witches and would be Apparating from inside her parents’ sitting room to inside her own; there was no reason the weather would affect them getting home safely, but before she could get any words out–

“That’s so kind of you, Dr. Granger, thank you!”

Pansy’s fingers were hot points on Hermione’s arm, and she grinned at Hermione’s mum, who smiled and said, “Call me Helen, Pansy.”

“Thank you, Helen,” Pansy said obligingly. “Why don’t Hermione and I finish cleaning the kitchen while you do that?”

Pansy dragged Hermione into the kitchen, and as soon as they were through the door, Hermione threw up a Silencing Charm and spun to face Pansy.

“What was that all about?” she yelled, perhaps a bit more forcefully than was necessary. “We don’t need to stay here. We were going to Apparate to my flat anyways!”

Pansy looked crestfallen for a moment, before her expression smoothed out into something bland and calm. “I know,” she said, her voice measured. “Obviously. But look how happy it made your mum.”

That drew Hermione up short. “What?”

“She’s glad we’re staying. She wants to take care of you.” Pansy sighed, crossing her arms in front of her. “I know you think that your parents like Diana better than you, but that’s not it. You’re the one they watched grow from a baby to a teenager, and you’d have to be blind not to see how proud they are of you. The reason it seems like they care for Diana more is because they are literally able to care for her more – she needs more from them.”

Hermione was speechless. Pansy continued, “You’ve been going to boarding school since you were eleven; you’ve been completely on your own since you were seventeen; _you_ made a drastic choice to protect _them_ during a war that they didn’t even know was going on. They don’t understand your job, or anything about the wizarding world. They don’t know when you need help, and even if they did, they wouldn’t know _how_ to help you. Diana, on the other hand, lived with them when she was growing up and is clearly making some terrible choices with her life, but they know how to help her. For them, the daughter who’s about to have a baby with a terrible fiancé is easier to support than the daughter who is a literal witch.”

Pansy had been talking louder and louder, her words running up on each other as she gestured, trying to make Hermione understand. She threw her hands into the air as she spat out the word _witch,_ then seemed to remember where she was and retreated into herself, hunching her shoulders as she wrapped her arms around herself.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to… psychoanalyze your whole family. But that’s my point: obviously we don’t need to wait out the storm by staying here, but it will make your mother feel like she’s taken care of you this Christmas, if you sleep in the guest room and let her make you breakfast in the morning.” Pansy sighed, heavily. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“I… yes,” Hermione said, helplessly. “That is what I wanted.” Her relationship with her parents had never been the same since she brought them back from Australia. And she’d known that would happen, of course she had, but it still tugged at her heart every time. Maybe it had never been the same since she’d gotten her Hogwarts letter, but she’d been too young to remember the difference.

Hermione tugged at Pansy’s elbows gently until she uncrossed her arms and Hermione could take her hands, holding them between both of hers. Pansy’s hands were strong, but soft, and Hermione pushed away the rogue thoughts that rose up in her about those hands to focus instead on looking Pansy in the eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, quiet, earnest. “I would never have thought of that.”

Pansy shrugged, but didn’t pull her hands away. “It’s the kind of thing my grandmother would have done,” she explained. “She had leagues more kindness in her than my mother. It broke my heart when she died; I wanted it to be my mum who fell ill instead, when my grandmother got sick.” She flushed. “Fuck, that makes me sound horrible, doesn’t it?”

Hermione shook her head. “How old were you when she died?”

Pansy’s voice was miserable. “Thirteen.”

Hermione squeezed her hands, pulling Pansy in even closer. “That doesn’t make you a horrible person,” she whispered.

~~~

Pansy’s reasoning for accepting Helen’s offer may have been well and good, but it was not without flaws. Namely, since Helen thought they were dating and there was only one bed in the spare room, it would probably be a very bad idea to magic it into two. Not only might it seem odd if someone came in and thought Hermione was avoiding sleeping with the woman who was supposed to be her girlfriend, but also Muggle furniture, once Transfigured, got very persnickety about whether it would return to its previous form again.

In contrast to Hermione’s miniature meltdown, taking place as she stood with her back to the door, purse clutched in both hands, Pansy did not seem even the slightest bit bothered. She tossed her own handbag onto the desk in the corner, kicking off her heels and raising her hands above her head, rolling her shoulders and stretching her neck.

“I think I had one too many snowballs,” Pansy said, idly rubbing her stomach before balancing on one leg to roll her ankle. Hermione forced herself to look away from the way it made Pansy’s skirt ride up; that dress, which had been driving Hermione mad all night – she didn’t need _more_ attention to be drawn to Pansy’s body, she paid it plenty already – somehow looked even better when Pansy padded around the bedroom in stocking feet.

When Hermione didn’t respond, Pansy gave her an odd look. “I’m going to Transfigure my scarf into some pyjamas for the night; do you want me to make some for you?”

Hermione nodded, pulling her scarf out of her bag and handing it over. Her throat felt very dry. “Thanks.”

Pansy disappeared into the ensuite, and Hermione threw her purse onto the desk before sinking into the desk chair, balancing her elbows on her knees and burying her face in her hands. What she wouldn’t give for a Floo connection right now. She needed someone to talk her down from the panic she was working herself into at the thought of spending the night in the same bed as Pansy. But there was no Floo at her parents’ house, and Harry and Ginny, although they both had mobiles, left them off most of the time – they’d definitely be off now; it was almost half past ten. Besides, Hermione hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with Harry about her feelings for Pansy, even thought she’d told him about the fake girlfriend scheme.

“You’re fine, Hermione,” she whispered to herself. “You only have to get through one night and _play it cool._ You’ll be asleep, what could go wrong?”

“Did you say something to me?” Pansy stood in the open bathroom door, wearing a herringbone-patterned sleep shirt which fell to halfway down her thighs, exposing miles of soft, creamy skin that Hermione had never seen before (but may have imagined often).

“No!” she said, jumping to her feet and wincing as she hit her knee on the desk. “No, I didn’t say anything.”

Pansy’s expression said she doubted that, but once again she left Hermione’s odd behavior un-addressed. “I’m done if you want to use the bathroom,” she said, setting the bundle of clothes she was holding on the edge of the desk. “I left your pyjamas in there on the sink.”

“Thanks,” Hermione said, and made her escape.

She took her time in the bathroom, taking off her trousers and jumper before folding them. The black shirt Pansy had Transfigured for her was on the counter as promised, but Hermione felt weird in only a t-shirt, so she Transfigured one of her socks into a pair of sleep shorts as well. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and even flossed the Muggle way, but eventually she had to stop stalling and return to the bedroom.

When she did, the scene that greeted her was nowhere near as bad as she’d feared. Pansy was under the covers, playing with – to Hermione’s surprise – a Muggle mobile. She’d turned off the overhead light, but both of the nightstand lamps were on, casting a lovely shine on Pansy’s hair.

Pansy didn’t look up when Hermione opened the door, so Hermione steeled her nerves, left her clothes on the desk, and climbed into the other side of the bed. Only then did Pansy glance at her, smiling ruefully.

“I would have Transfigured the desk or something into another bed, but then I remembered it’s all Muggle-made furniture…”

“It’s alright,” Hermione said, shifting a little. The sheets were cool against her legs, not having acclimated yet to either of their body heat. “It’s only one night.”

“Right.” From the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Pansy shifting, leaning over to put her phone on the bedside table and turn off her light. As Pansy snuggled down under the sheets, pulling them over her shoulder, Hermione turned off her light as well.

In the darkness, Pansy’s voice seemed like it came from very close. “Goodnight, Hermione.”

Hermione wiggled her own way under the covers, trying not to think about how long it had been since she’d fallen asleep in a bed with someone else. “Goodnight, Pansy.”

Pansy’s voice was sleepy, contented. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

~~~

Hermione woke content, and more comfortable than she could remember being in a long time. She often fell asleep while reviewing work papers, and then found them still scattered over her chest or on the floor beside her bed in the morning, an instant reminder of whatever she’d been worrying about the night before. She’d taken to setting an alarm even on weekends, because if she didn’t set a time to wake up, she’d sleep in too late and not get anything done – and what with how busy her weekdays were, her weekends were when she did pretty much everything else.

It had been a long time since she’d woken in the morning without her alarm pulling her into consciousness, but it had been even longer since she’d not been alone – since there had been a warm body beside hers, an arm across her waist, the sweet smell of Pansy’s shampoo in her nose…

Wait a second.

She’d never woken up to _that_ before.

Hermione’s eyes flew open. Her immediate reaction – the desire to bolt upright and _flee_ – was stalled by the arm that rested over her stomach, effectively pinning her down. The arm that was attached to the rest of Pansy Parkinson, who was curled into Hermione’s side, her breath still deep with sleep. One of her legs was tossed over Hermione’s as well, and their heads were very close together - if Hermione tilted hers to the side, her lips would almost be brushing Pansy’s forehead.

Hermione dragged in a breath, trying to push back the tide of panic that rose in her mind. When she’d agreed to sleeping together – when she’d gotten into bed last night with Pansy – she hadn’t been expecting _this._ She had intended to stay on her own side throughout the night and wake at her usual early hour, the sooner to change into her own clothes, go home, and forget this whole thing had ever happened. She had no idea how late she’d overslept, although from the light filtering through the curtains, she guessed it might already be midmorning.

What was she supposed to do now? If she moved to get out of bed, it was inevitable that she would wake Pansy, which seemed rude. But lying there awake while an unaware Pansy was half on top of her felt unsavory for other reasons.

As though she knew Hermione was worrying about her, Pansy chose that moment to move, yawning and shifting her weight as she woke. Hermione turned to face her on instinct and found that Pansy hadn’t moved back as far as she’d expected. Their faces were very close together, mere centimeters between their noses, and when Pansy’s eyes focused on Hermione’s, her expression went soft and warm.

“Hermione,” she breathed, and leaned in to kiss her.

Hermione couldn’t move. Pansy’s lips were so soft, if dry and, when she opened her mouth to deepen the kiss, a little sleep sour. As Hermione responded, instinctive, a little aroused, Pansy hummed happily, and it was that noise that sent Hermione hurtling into reality.

This was _Pansy._ Pansy Parkinson. Pansy Parkinson, who was pretending to be Hermione’s girlfriend but was not really dating her, who had woken confused in Hermione’s arms, because Hermione was harboring inappropriate feelings and hadn’t extracted herself from the situation as soon as she woke up, like she should have done.

Hermione wrenched herself away, scrambling back until the covers tangled behind her stopped her from going any further.

Pansy’s expression was hurt, confused. “Hermione?”

“I’m sorry, I– I shouldn’t have done that.”

Pansy frowned. “ _I_ kissed _you,_ ” she said.

“I know. But you just woke up– you were confused. I shouldn’t have gone along with it,” Hermione explained, twisting her hands together underneath the blankets. She felt sick with worry and embarrassment.

The crease in Pansy’s forehead deepened. “I’m sorry. I– When you agreed to have me come with you, I guess I thought… that it meant something.”

Hermione flushed. “I– I didn’t agree to it because of that,” she said. The idea that Pansy might have realized how Hermione felt about her, might have felt some kind of obligation to help her because of it, was mortifying. She’d thought she’d done a better job of hiding it.

“I– I’m sorry I misunderstood.”

Pansy sat up, and Hermione rushed to mirror her.

“No, I– I shouldn’t have– I should never have agreed to this,” Hermione said miserably.

Pansy looked down at her phone, her expression shuttered, her eyes hidden from Hermione. “It’s fine,” she said. “I knew what I was doing.” She flicked a glance to Hermione so quickly Hermione wondered if she’d imagined it. “Did you want to change first, or…?”

Hermione waved her off. “I can wait. You go.”

She ignored the way her stomach fluttered when Pansy re-emerged from the bathroom, wearing the same shirt that she’d slept in, now tucked into black jeans that Hermione guessed she’d Transfigured out of her tights. Hermione also ignored the concern in her mother’s eyes when they appeared in the kitchen fully dressed and turned down Helen’s offer of breakfast.

“It’s my fault, Dr. Granger; I forgot to set an alarm but I have to see my godparents this afternoon,” Pansy said magnanimously, but Hermione thought that her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

When Hermione Apparated them to her flat, Pansy didn’t meet her gaze as she asked to use the Floo. Within half an hour of waking in bed with Pansy, Hermione found herself alone in her apartment, which seemed colder, more empty than usual.

“Well,” she said to her dark living room. “This is rubbish.”

~~~

Hermione went to Harry and Ginny’s to exchange presents the following night, their time until then having been consumed with Weasley family holiday business. The boys opened their gifts from “Aunt ‘Mione” – well, James opened his gifts; Albus, still being an infant, mostly burbled while Ginny did it for him – and then Ginny stayed home to put them to bed while Hermione and Harry walked down to their local.

There had been a time when they would have stayed at the Potters’ house, chatting in the living room until late in the night; that was also before Hermione dumped Ginny’s brother and lost any Weasley family goodwill she had once had in the process. Ginny was kind to Hermione for Harry and their childrens’ sake, but Hermione knew they’d never be close again.

Settled across from Harry in a corner booth, both of them cradling pints of cider, Hermione felt like herself for the first time in days. Harry sipped his drink, an apology in his eyes, but they didn’t discuss it – they never really had. Instead, Harry tilted his head to the side, those familiar green eyes twinkling in the dim light of the pub.

“So, how was your Christmas?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders, having no response to that but a cynical laugh. Harry’s brow twisted, his confusion evident.

“Hermione?”

“It was fine,” she said.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “The last I heard, your sister was pregnant and you were bringing _Pansy Parkinson_ home as your fake date. I can hardly believe that all you have to say about that is ‘it was fine.’”

Hermione had to laugh again. “What is there to say, Harry? Diana was insufferable and rude, like I knew she would be. Bringing Pansy home was a huge mistake, which I should have anticipated. It was fine, except that Pansy might never speak to me again, but I should have seen that coming.”

Harry frowned. “You sound awfully upset about the fact that Parkinson might never speak to you again.”

Hermione covered her face with her hands. “Harry,” she groaned. “Don’t make me spell it out for you.”

She could tell he was smiling, even though she refused to open her eyes. “I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page, here,” he said, and Hermione was grateful that even though Harry, like everyone else in her life, had been initially baffled by her bisexuality, he at least didn’t shy away from discussing it. “So, what happened while Pansy was pretending to be your girlfriend that makes you so sure she’s never going to talk to you again?”

Hermione sighed, crossing her arms on the table and hunching her shoulders. “It all went well at first,” she said. “I mean, my parents were totally convinced. Pansy was great, she even brought gifts for my family. My mum was nice to Pansy, acting like she wanted to get to know her and everything. Diana was incredibly rude, of course, but Pansy wasn’t letting it bother her.” She took a sip of her drink. “And then it snowed, and Mum offered us the spare room instead of going home that night, and I was going to say no, of course we didn’t need to stay because we’d Apparated back to mine, but Pansy said yes before I could stop her.”

Harry listened intently, and at that information, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Why would she say that? She knew you’d be able to get home fine.”

Hermione chewed her lip. “Well, she said that she thought my mum wanted to take care of me, but felt she couldn’t because of the whole magic thing and all. She said it would make her happy, and wasn’t that the point of the whole charade?”

“Alright. So you stayed the night at your parents’ house.”

“Yes.” Hermione swallowed. “And we had to share a bed, because all their furniture is Muggle…”

“...and your mum thought Pansy was your girlfriend, so obviously you must sleep together all the time.” Harry let out an incredulous laugh as Hermione scowled at him.

“Yes.”

“But if it was Pansy’s idea to stay the night there, I still don’t see what happened that was so horrible?”

Hermione sighed. “When Pansy woke up, she was confused about where she was, and… we kissed. She kissed me,” Hermione clarified. Remembering the elation-turned-misery she’d felt when it happened, her stomach churned. It would have been the perfect way to wake up, if it had been real.

Harry was watching her with a peculiar expression on his face. “And?”

“And?”

“And then what happened? After she kissed you?”

Hermione blushed, covering her face with her hands again. “I don’t know. That’s when things went bad. I stopped her, and said I hadn’t meant for anything like that to happen, and then she apologized and I apologized, and it was so uncomfortable, Harry. Then she left to get dressed and we Apparated straight to my flat. We didn’t even stay for breakfast.”

When she met Harry’s eyes, she was surprised to find them filled with mirth. “What, in all of this, could you possibly find funny?”

Harry tried to tame his smile, taking a sip of his cider before he spoke. “So. Pansy offered to go with you to your parents for Christmas, as your fake date, without any prompting from you. She brought gifts for your parents and charmed them. She agreed to spend the night at your parents’ house, despite that being _completely_ unnecessary, because she thought it might make your mum, and by extension you, happy, and spending the night just so happened to include sleeping in the same bed with you.”

Harry’s grin was fully formed now, stretching across his face as Hermione groaned. Oblivious to her discomfort, or perhaps because of it, Harry continued. “Then, when she woke up, she kissed you, and only apologized for it _after_ you freaked out at her and made it seem like you hadn’t wanted her to do that… Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Hermione loathed being made to feel stupid, but she had to admit that Harry had a point. “It’s possible,” she admitted reluctantly, “that my own worries have blinded me to certain signals that Pansy may have been sending.”

Harry’s expression, when she met his eyes again, had sobered. “I don’t want to tell you that she definitely likes you, because we can’t know that,” he said. “But I do think it’s worth, y’know, actually talking to her and finding out if there could be something there.” He looked into his cider as he spoke. “I know I maybe haven’t been the most supportive of your romantic endeavors since you broke up with Ron, but that doesn’t mean… I hope I haven’t made you feel like you can’t talk to me about this kind of thing. I want you to be happy, Hermione. I want you to find someone who makes you happy.”

She smiled. “I know, Harry. And it’s not that I haven’t felt comfortable talking about stuff like that with you – it’s really not. But there hasn’t been anything to talk about in… a while. A long while.”

“All the more reason to find out if Pansy’s interested, see if you can give it a go” Harry said. “I mean, if you want to.”

Hermione nodded. “I do.” She shook her head. “I just have to figure out when I can talk to her about it and apologize for being so thick-skulled.”

Harry grinned. “Well, I don’t have to be home for another–” he paused to check his watch “–thirty minutes, at least. And you know I love making plans. So,” he took a sip and then set his cider down on the table forcefully, putting his palms down and leaning in towards Hermione, “lay it on me, Granger.”

~~~

Hermione had never been more grateful that when she and Ron had split, she had gotten Luna’s New Years Eve party. By tacit agreement, she and Ron had decided to avoid each other in public for a year or two – if Hermione had expected that to end by now, and was a little hurt it hadn’t, it was no one’s business but her own – and since Ron had automatically gotten all events hosted by his family, Hermione was still able to attend Luna’s yearly soirée.

It hadn’t felt like much of a victory at the time – nothing had – but she did enjoy the event, and it allowed her to see a lot of the friends that she didn’t catch up with as often anymore.

It was also the one place where she was guaranteed to run into Pansy without having to track her down at work – which would be, Hermione felt, a little invasive for what she wanted to talk about – because Luna was, for some unclear reason, good friends with Draco Malfoy, and whenever he came to one of these events, he brought as his date–

Pansy. Hermione spotted her, finally, at twenty to midnight. She was across the room, as lovely as ever in swishy black trousers and a sparkling silver blouse, but Hermione thought that when Pansy smiled and laughed at the joke Malfoy had told, it seemed a little flatter than usual.

But perhaps she was projecting.

Either way, Hermione found herself making a beeline towards the two Slytherins, Harry giving her a subtle thumbs up as he caught her eye. Ginny looked between them, confused, but Hermione ignored her, focused on the familiar profile across the room.

It was only once she was standing beside Pansy – finally, next to her again – that Hermione realized she was rudely interrupting a conversation with not an excuse in sight.

“Um. Pansy?”

To Hermione’s surprise, it was Malfoy who spoke, crossing his arms and leveling her with a disapproving look. “Granger. What did you want?”

Hermione was about to open her mouth to defend herself to Malfoy – not something she’d done recently, as their interactions now were boring and civil – when Pansy put a hand on his arm, forcing her to face him.

“Get me another glass of champagne?” she asked, handing him her empty flute. He made no move to go, and she frowned, pushing at his shoulder. “It’ll be fine. Go, Draco.”

Finally, he did, his reluctance obvious, and Pansy turned to face Hermione.

“Well, Hermione?”

She swallowed. “I wanted to apologize.”

Pansy’s face flickered with confusion. “Apologize?”

“For what happened that morning. I believe I gave you the impression that the kiss was unwelcome, when that was very much… false.”

Pansy raised one eyebrow. Merlin, she was attractive, even when she was angry with Hermione – it wasn’t fair. “That was false?”

Hermione was a little lightheaded, and took a deep breath before nodding. “Yes. It was… I’ve been wanting you to kiss me for a while. I only reacted the way I did because I thought you were acting out of confusion.” She shook her head. “I thought you’d figured out how I felt about you, and I was embarrassed because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable when you were doing me a favor. I should have trusted you more.”

Pansy smiled ruefully. “I appreciate you apologizing. I could have also used my words to tell you how I felt, instead of kissing you with no warning and hoping you’d get the message.”

“Does that mean there was a message you wanted me to get?” Hermione smiled hopefully.

Pansy laughed – a real laugh, this time, with her eyes squeezed shut and her chin tilted up. “Don’t start being coy with me now, Granger,” she teased, but she reached out to grab one of Hermione’s hands all the same. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a while, too.”

Even though she’d figured that out, hearing Pansy say it sent a thrill down Hermione’s spine. “Oh,” she said, before whatever she was going to say was interrupted as everyone around them began the countdown to midnight. She could try and explain herself with more clumsy words, or she could follow Pansy’s lead and go straight to action, now that they were finally on the same page.

“How about you kiss me now, then?” Hermione asked, as around them the countdown neared its end.

Pansy smiled. “Alright,” she said, and then, as party horns blared and guests cheered, she did.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


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